The Interrupted Vacation Affair
by joea64
Summary: Third entry in the Three Goddesses Affair MFUOh My Goddess! crossover series. Napoleon and Angelique are on vacation at a swank Med resort, when they're faced with an Islamist terrorist takeover of their hotel.


THE THREE GODDESSES AFFAIR ENTR'ACTE

THE INTERRUPTED VACATION AFFAIR

Napoleon Solo lay on his back on the chaise longue, basking in the warm Mediterranean sun. He was clad only in a set of blue swimming boxers, and a rather absurd-looking drink composed of at least half a dozen multicolored layers sat on the table next to him. At the moment, he was thinking of nothing at all, and happily so.

Abruptly, he became aware of several quite familiar, and quite welcome, sensations:

...The whiff of Chanel Number Five;

...A pair of silken-soft arms wrapping around his neck and shoulders from behind;

...A pair of equally soft, full, round breasts pillowing the back of his head;

...A pair of large china-blue eyes gleaming down into his brown eyes;

...and a sultry voice cooing, "Hello, Napoleon darling."

"Well, hello yourself," Napoleon said with his easy grin, pulling himself up a bit and accepting a deep kiss from Angelique La Chien. The platinum-blonde Thrushwoman, clad in a maillot of extremely daring cut and high-heeled mules, sat daintily on the chaise next to him, adjusting her wide-brimmed straw hat and tipping her huge sunglasses back up her nose. She picked up a drink identical to Napoleon's and sipped from it.

"Isn't this nice?" she said happily. "No renegade satraps. No armies of killer robots. No nerve gas bombs. And..." she glanced impishly at her more-than-occasional lover over the tops of her shades, "no dour little Russians to spoil our good time, either."

Napoleon burst out laughing. "Illya's idea of a vacation is a grand tour of all the jazz clubs in New York," he commented. "Meanwhile - " he waved his hand at the vista surrounding him - "this is mine. Aren't you glad you hooked up with me instead of him?"

Angelique chuckled throatily. "Well, _mon cher_, you do know what they say about those quiet ones. Perhaps I shall give him a whirl sometime, after all..." Napoleon gave her a cockeyed look. She laughed again and rose to her feet, swaying over to where Napoleon lay. "Or then again, perhaps I'll just give _you_ another whirl, right here and now."

"Uh, Angelique? This isn't exactly a private place," chided Napoleon without much force as Angelique elegantly straddled him, then sat down atop him.

"Mmmmmmmmm. Remember what you said the other week about liking to live dangerously...?" cooed Angelique as she slid the straps of her maillot down off her shoulders.

THAT EVENING

Napoleon held the chair out for Angelique as she slid gracefully into her seat, then took his own chair, eyeing the sight across him with unalloyed pleasure. Angelique wore a strapless blue gown this evening that exactly matched her eyes; she slowly unbuttoned _mousquetaire_ gloves of the same shade and rolled them back over her wrists.

"Now, Napoleon darling, you'll just have to be patient with me while I look at the menu," she admitted as the waiter came over carrying a pair of menus done in elaborate French script on heavy cream paper. "I can be decisive about a lot of important things, but deciding from menus has always been one of my weak points."

"Don't let Illya hear you say that or he'll think you don't think food is important," chuckled Napoleon. "Speaking of which, did you hear what happened to him just before we left?"

"No," replied Angelique, with a questioning look.

"Well, he got into an argument with Skuld about Harry Potter. He was saying he didn't understand why a technologist of the caliber of Skuld - who was a goddess to boot - so much fancied such 'escapist nonsense' as Rowling's books. Well, you know how much Skuld looks up to Illya, but she didn't like that one bit. She got this scowl on her face you know she gets, yelled "_ILLYA NO BAKA!_" and BANG! - " he clapped his hands lightly - "the word 'idiot' was scrawled all over Illya's face in English, Japanese _and_

Russian."

Angelique pealed delighted laughter. "Oh, _mon Dieu_! I wish I had been there to see that! Did anyone take pictures?"

"I think Urd did," Napoleon grinned, "but I don't know whether she still has them. Illya was chasing her around pretty vigorously for a few minutes there." Angelique hooted again. "Fortunately, it washes off, or Illya would have to have had some complex explaining to do to Mr. Waverly at the next meeting."

"I'll just bet," snickered Angelique, turning her attention back to the menu. She frowned in perplexity. "Napoleon darling, which do you think is better - the mixed grill or the broiled flounder?"

Napoleon turned to the waiter, who had just come up again. "My friend will need a little longer to consult the menu. Please bring a fresh bottle of Merlot."

"_Oui, monsieur_," the waiter said, bowing and retreating.

"Or possibly the lemon-herb roast chicken, or the salmon steak..." Angelique was still musing. Napoleon grinned.

"As for myself, I'm having the filet mignon, medium rare, with Portabella mushrooms and romaine salad."

"You men decide too quickly," Angelique pouted. She did finally make up her mind, though, selecting the mixed grill, and Napoleon gave the waiter their orders.

When their meals came, he sampled the steak, then told the waiter, "I think this needs a bit of Worcestershire sauce. Would you bring me some, please?"

"_Oui, monsieur_," the waiter repeated, hurrying off. Napoleon concentrated on his salad.

He noticed the waiter coming back. Something about the man's posture set off an alarm in his mind, and he whispered to Angelique, "Does there seem to be something...um, unusually stiff about our waiter tonight, Angelique?"

The blonde finished a bite of lamb, then answered, "H'mmmmmm...now that you mention it, yes. I wonder what's being held to his back."

"I don't," Napoleon answered. "Probably a gun." Just as he finished speaking, a shot resounded and the waiter collapsed bonelessly to the ground. Everyone in the restaurant turned.

Some ten to a dozen people poured through the kitchen doors. All of them were heavily armed, carrying automatic rifles and pistols; several of them had grenades. They were dressed in camouflage fatigues with green armbands, and appeared to be of wildly varying nationalities. Their leader, a distinctly Middle Eastern-appearing gentleman, stood forth.

"This den of whores and liquor guzzlers is now under the control of the New Salafist Group for Islamic Combat!" he barked in fair English. Both Napoleon and Angelique tensed slightly, though not so much as to draw attention to themselves. "Jihadists!" Angelique whispered through clenched teeth. She scanned the terrorists and her face stiffened. "Napoleon darling, we have a real problem," she murmured.

"What's that?" Napoleon whispered back.

"That red-headed, Irish-looking man on the left? I recognize him. He was at the Rome Satrapy when I was stationed there a few years back," Angelique answered. "He quit Thrush because he got religion - Islam - and disappeared. Nobody knew where he got off to - until now, that is." She paused. "Napoleon, this is very bad. The Salafists are the harshest, most fundamentalist sect of Islam. It's always unfair to make generalizations, but they were the sect that produced bin Laden - and if I heard that other man right, this group appears to be the descendant of one of the gangs that convulsed Algeria for many years."

Napleon nodded, very slightly, with a perfectly still expression on his face, though his eyes were grim. "We'd better get the hell out of here." He scanned the restaurant without moving his head, thinking. "We're out of the way here - I don't _think_ anyone has seen us yet. Let's get under the tablecloth." He and Angelique ducked under the floor-length cloth, crouching on their knees and hands. They could hear the Salafists ordering the patrons to stand up and move out of the restaurant in single file. "Do we wait or move?"

"Wait," Napoleon whispered. He cautiously pulled his Special out of its shoulder rig. "Do you hear anyone coming in our direction?"

"No. They all seem to be moving away...yes, they're moving out the doors."

"All right," Napoleon said. "Wait a moment...another moment...I'm going to risk a look out." He lifted a corner of the tablecloth and peered out. The restaurant now seemed to be empty. He cautiously eeled his way out from the cloth and stood up; the room was indeed empty. He bent back down to help Angelique out; the Thrushwoman had her own pistol out and was scanning the room intensively.

"We need to get back up to our room," she said in a low tone. He nodded.

In the corridor, as the Jihadists were chivvying their hostages into a line, the Irishman frowned, scanning the line of prisoners and then turning around as if looking for something. The leader noticed. "What is it, Jamal?"

"I don't know, Mehmet," Jamal (a _nom de guerre_ - his real name was Dermot O'Hara, and he was, as Angelique had said, a former Thrushman). "Sure, I _thought_ I'd seen somebody I knew, but it must have been a trick of the eye."

"Well, we will get them sorted out," Mehmet said complacently. "This was a good operation - one infidel killed so far, none of our brothers casualties. Move them all out!" he called sharply to his men.

Napoleon and Angelique were posed by either side of the open double doors of the restaurant, listening and watching. They could hear noises of many feet and a confused babble of voices fading down the corridor. The U.N.C.L.E. agent nodded to his friend. "Time to move. I think they were moving toward the main lobby. That means we can't use the elevators."

"Right," Angelique said crisply. "I saw a flight of stairs in the back, though - we can use those. Let's go!"

They slipped out through the doors and headed in the opposite direction from the lobby, Angelique taking the lead while Napoleon walked backward. They reached the stairway without incident, slightly to Napoleon's surprise. Angelique held her gloved hand up, peering upwards carefully. "I think there's at least one guard in the stairwell," she said. "Let me go first..."

"All right, but be careful; I'll be right behind you," Napoleon agreed. Angelique squeezed his hand and started to climb the stairs, her stiletto heels clicking quietly on the concrete. Napoleon winced at the noise, which sounded terribly loud in the pregnant silence.

The Jihadist guard was standing in the third-floor landing, his back to the stairwell. Angelique crept up behind him, drawing a long, slim-bladed knife from her purse. The Jihadist heard a noise and began to turn around, but before he could complete the turn, Angelique was on him, stabbing the icepick-like blade through his right eardrum and into his brain, twisting the knife brutally. The guard fell without a sound. Angelique wrinkled her straight nose in distaste; the guard had voided. "Ugh. Inconsiderate of him not to go to the men's room before I killed him," she remarked dryly to Napoleon. The two agents continued their slow progress upward.

After several minutes, they reached the seventh floor, on which their room was situated. Napoleon cracked the door, looked to either side, then slipped through and held it for Angelique. They trotted down the hall to their lodgings, and Angelique pulled the electronic key out of her purse and applied it. The door opened with a click and they quickly slipped inside and closed it again.

Angelique headed at once for the closet where their suitcases were stowed. "A girl always comes prepared," she remarked as she hauled her largest suitcase out and set it on the bed, then opened it. She removed some more-or-less ordinary things she hadn't unpacked - a couple of pairs of high-heeled pumps, several pairs of stockings, a black lace bustier, an extra tube of spermicidal jelly - and pressed two hidden catches in the bottom of the case, then tapped a code into the keypad revealed when a small cover retracted. The bottom of the suitcase popped open, revealing a complete Thrush field agent's kit under the xray-safe false bottom. She pulled out a black catsuit and quickly stripped herself of her gown, then began changing - not so quickly, though, that she didn't take a moment to give Napoleon a good view of her hourglass-shaped magnificence. The U.N.C.L.E. agent grinned as he got out his own big suitcase.

"You must have been a Girl Guide," he remarked as he went through a similar process with his suitcase, pulling out odd items of underwear and clothing and popping the false cover, then pulling out various and sundry items of equipment.

"Young Pioneer, actually," corrected Angelique; "Yugoslavia was still Communist, remember, darling. There." She slipped on a shoulder holster over her left shoulder and loaded in the Luger she preferred for combat work, then picked up a submachine gun and slung it over her other shoulder. "Thrush-modified version of the Czech Skorpion," she commented. Napoleon nodded, pulling out his own SMG. He pulled on a pair of dark blue jeans, slipped a black windbreaker on and slung the weapon over his shoulder. "And this is our version of the AKMS," he explained. He raised an eyebrow. "We may not have to worry about ammunition resupply; I think they were all carrying former East-bloc weapons. Untidy of the former Soviets."

"I bet you always twit your dour Russian friend over that," grinned Angelique as she finished lacing her black rubber-soled boots. "Tie my hair back for me, Napoleon darling?" Napoleon complied, twisting Angelique's shoulder-length platinum tresses with quick, gentle fingers and tying them into a short ponytail. Angelique kissed him quickly in thanks and pulled on a black stocking cap over her head. "No sense drawing notice from a reflection on my hair," she commented. "I love the way it looks, but it's always been a tactical weakness."

"Before we go, I'm going to call in to New York," Napoleon advised. Angelique nodded and took out her own Thrush communicator, stepping aside as he activated his pen-shaped transceiver. "Open Channel D!"

"_Yes, Mr...er...Solo. I take it you are having a rather more exciting vacation than you had expected_," replied the dry voice of Alexander Waverly. Napoleon grinned tightly, and explained the situation.

"_Hmmmm,_" came Waverly's voice. "_Yes, we have had initial reports of this incident, Mr. Solo. The New Salafist Group for Islamic Combat is itself new to us, but if it has at least one Thrushman - ex-Thrushman, it would be more proper to say - in its ranks, that is an alarming development indeed. Even a renegade, were he properly equipped when he absconded, would be able to give his new employers a great deal of valuable technology._"

"Yes, sir," Napoleon answered. "Can you get any help to us?"

"_Unfortunately not immediately, Mr. Solo,_" Waverly answered, the frown evident in his voice. "_The Marseilles and Monaco offices are fairly small, and both are fully occupied with other problems at the moment. The nearest major offices are...let me see...Barcelona and Milan. I will issue a request to Geneva to have a team deployed from one of those offices, but it will probably be at least an hour to an hour and a half before they can reach you. Considering the history of Jihadists, you would be very ill-advised to wait for help. You will have to do what you can to reduce the threat on your own._"

"Yes, sir," Napoleon answered. "We'll report back as soon as we can." Waverly acknowledged and clicked off. Napoleon looked up at Angelique, who returned from her own long-distance conversation with Thrush Central shaking her head. "No joy on my end, darling," she said apologetically. "Central says the closest Satraps that can send a flying squad are Rome and Paris, and either one is at least two hours away. What about you?"

"Up to 90 minutes," responded Napoleon. "Want to see how much we can get done in an hour to an hour and a half?" Angelique smiled and gave him a thumbs-up.

Napoleon checked his Special to make sure it was snugly settled in its holster. "All ready?" Angelique gave him the thumbs-up and he walked over to the door, opening it carefully and looking both ways. "The coast seems to be clear - come on, quietly now." They slid silently out into the hall. Napoleon said, "I think we'd better take the other stairway. If they're missing our friend you gave brain surgery to, they'll be checking the first one." Angelique nodded silently, and they trotted quietly down the hallway to the stairs, Angelique moving backward this time as she kept the watch on the rear.

Napoleon opened the door and they began descending the stairs, but he held up his hand. "Listen!" he whispered. There was noise of some kind coming from the sixth floor. He opened the door and peered out. Harsh laughter and sounds of female protest were coming from down the hall. He nodded brusquely to Angelique and they slipped through the door. Angelique pointed. "That way - that door there is open, about eight or nine down." They crept toward the room. Fetching up against the wall, Napoleon checked the plaque, which proclaimed it to be room 675.

They could now clearly hear the voices. "Be quiet, you strumpets!" bellowed a male voice. "You flaunt your bodies and you and all your kind are a stench in the nostrils of _Dar-ul-Islam_. You foist your lecherous ways on us. Women ought to be decently covered in the _hijab_. We will teach you what happens to tarts who make display of what should remain hidden." A zipper unzipped, and another terrorist laughed coarsely.

"No...oh no, please..._Dio mio_..." sobbed a young woman's Italian-accented voice. Another woman was crying hysterically. Angelique's lips thinned into a harsh slash quite out of keeping with the sensuous planes of her face, and she glanced at Napoleon. Napoleon nodded back, his brown eyes equally hard. He gestured over to his side and Angelique moved, crouching down. Napoleon slung his SMG over his back and pulled out his Special; Angelique did the same, producing her Luger.

He held out his left hand, counting down silently. Five...four...three...two...one...and as his hand closed into a fist, he smashed through the door, bringing his Special to bear. Two terrorists, one with his pants already partway down around his legs, spun and began to raise their weapons, but Napoleon's U.N.C.L.E. special barked twice, and the half-undressed terrorist flew backward, landing in an untidy heap with blood spurting from wounds in his throat and upper chest. Angelique's Luger roared behind him and a bullet smashed through the right eye of the second terrorist, who went down, flopped for a moment and lay still.

Napoleon smiled quickly at the young women, who had stopped screaming but were staring at him and Angelique wide-eyed. "Sorry for the mess, _signorinas_," he apologized. "We'll take it outside. Lock the door!" he advised. He and Angelique dragged the corpses out the door, making sure that no blood trail was left, and slammed the door of room 675 behind them, then pulled the bodies down to the stairwell and left them in a heap. "Two down, however many to go," he said. "Three down," Angelique corrected. "Oh yes, the brain-surgery guy," Napoleon conceded. "My mistake." He thought a moment. "Do you think the shots attracted any attention?"

"Maybe," Angelique answered. "We can only keep moving downstairs and see." Napoleon nodded and they resumed their descent. On the fourth floor, they met another pair of terrorists running upstairs. Actually, they literally ran into them, as the Jihadists were pelting around a turn and fetched up short when they saw Napoleon and Angelique. The agents' SMG's were ready, though, and spat flame. Two more Salafists became _shaheeden_. Napoleon regarded the bodies slightly glumly. "That's torn it," he commented. "No use going for stealth now - we'll just have to brazen it out!"

Down in the front lobby, Mehmet turned again to Jamal. "What was that you were saying earlier about someone you recognized? Somebody is loose in this hotel - I can hear the gunfire!"

Jamal scowled. "I'm not sure, Mehmet, but I _thought_ I saw a woman I recognized from the old days in Thrush, in the Rome Satrapy."

"This woman being?"

"Angelique La Chien," replied Jamal curtly. Mehmet's brows drew together.

"La Chien...La Chien. Yessssssss..." he hissed thoughtfully. "I think I have heard of this woman. She is an infidel - or perhaps an apostate pagan, possibly even," he shuddered, "an atheist, who has been a thorn in the side of Jihad for several years now. You believe that she is here, in this building?"

"Sure, and I can't say for sure, Mehmet, but I'd recognize that platinum hair anywhere - there aren't that many women who have such a shade in nature, now. And there's something else."

"What?"

"I saw a man with Angelique, if in fact it's her. There's a fair possibility that the man is Napoleon Solo."

"SOLO!" bellowed Mehmet, his face darkening. "One of the most dangerous infidels of all! Why did you not warn me, Jamal!"

"Because I didn't put two and two together until now," Jamal snapped. "We can argue over blame later - the fact remains that if Solo and La Chien are here together, they're a two-person Rainbow squad all by themselves. We've got to stop them."

"Yes," Mehmet said shortly, gesturing to his other men and snapping orders in Arabic.

Napoleon and Angelique continued their descent downstairs, having recovered ammunition that fit their SMG's from the bodies of the dead terrorists. As they reached the next door on the third-floor landing, Napoleon flattened himself against it and pressed his ear up against the thick wood. "I _think_ I hear something, but I can't be quite sure."

"Here, use this," Angelique offered, handing him a small instrument that looked like a miniaturized stethoscope with a control pad in the middle of the tube. Napoleon accepted the device, plugged it into his ears and placed the pad up against the door. His eyebrows went up. "They've twigged to us, all right. I think there are three or four outside this door, and they're getting ready to come through." He pulled out a small device, slapped it against the doorknob, pressed the button, and waved Angelique back. "Under cover, quick!" They ducked back under the stairwell.

The door began to open, and then there was a loud bang, a flash, and another crash as the shattered door dropped back into the landing. Two smoking bodies tumbled forward through the opening, flopped to the floor and lay unmoving.

Napoleon and Angelique stepped out, SMG's leveled, as two more Jihadists came through the door, and hosed them down, knocking them back out into the corridor. "That's seven now, at least," Angelique commented.

Mehmet and Jamal looked up sharply as Napoleon's explosive device went off, followed by bursts of automatic-weapon fire. "They can't be more than three floors above us now," Jamal growled.

Mehmet said in a hard voice, "We'd better be prepared to receive them." He waved at his men, and they started lashing belts laden with cylindrical objects around the hostages, wiring them together and connecting them to a device held by Mehmet.

The two agents huddled just off the second-floor landing, discussing their next move. "I remember there were ten to twelve of the enemy that stormed into the restaurant," pointed out Angelique. "I don't remember that any of those were among the number that we've removed so far, so we still need to plan on facing 10 to 12 Jihadists."

Napoleon nodded. "How are we fixed for ammunition?" Angelique checked. "I have, let me see, my three clips for my Skorpion, with the extra ammunition I picked up from the terrorists, and about forty rounds for my Luger. What about you, Napoleon darling?"

"More or less the same, I have a bit more for my Special," Napoleon said, slinging his SMG and taking out his Special again. He began affixing the attachments. "I think the rest of this is going to be close-in work, and we should probably try to take at least one of them alive for interrogation."

"I'd prefer just to kill them all, after they went and broke up our nice romantic dinner," Angelique said with a raised eyebrow, "but however you like, darling." She checked her own Luger. She got a thought and looked up. "Napoleon darling, can we get into the kitchen?"

"Possibly," responded Napoleon. "Why?"

"I'm going to need an onion," Angelique answered. Napoleon gave her a questioning look, but she didn't elaborate.

Mehmet grumbled a moment, then turned to another Jihadist, Ahmed. "Ahmed, I want you to take three men and check the west stairway. I think our friends went up the east stairwell and are coming back the other way." Ahmed nodded, motioned to two other men and they trotted off. Mehmet turned back to Jamal. "Tell me more about this La Chien. I know her reputation but not all the details."

"Angelique La Chien," replied Jamal flatly, "is, simply put, one of the most dangerous people in Thrush. She has a razor-sharp mind and a keenly honed body under that soft, pampered exterior. She's made her bones in special actions without number, against U.N.C.L.E. and many other organizations, and for the last several years has been, as you say, a particular enemy of the _Mujahideen_. Her partner, Napoleon Solo of the U.N.C.L.E., is even worse. He is the Chief Enforcement Agent of their North American division. It seems the rumors are correct - they have, somehow, recently formed a serious romantic liaison which has, in total defiance of all logic and explanation, not only not drawn a negative reaction from either of their organizations, but which has led to their being professionally paired in several instances where the interests of their principals coincide." Jamal shook his head. "We may thank Allah that Solo's Russian partner, Kuryakin, does not appear to be here. That infidel pig is as unstoppable as Solo."

"There was some particularly bizarre rumor that I heard about the two of them - Solo and La Chien, that is," prompted Mehmet. Jamal shook his head.

"Yes, but sure, I thought it was the product of disordered minds. The story has it that some pagan goddess named Belldandy gave them each one wish." Mehmet roared with laughter.

"A pagan goddess? One wish? _Belldandy_! Ha ha ha!" He shook his head, still rollicking. "Even for a pagan and false deity, that is a perfectly preposterous name. And one wish?" A snort of derision. "Everyone knows that if you pick up a brass lamp, like the great Aladdin, and rub upon it, a good Islamic _djinn_ will give you not one, but three wishes. False gods are not only false, it seems, they are stingy." He chortled again, then turned serious.

"Very well. Ridiculous stories or not, Solo and that trollop La Chien are dangerous. But then, they have not come up against truly picked _Mujahideen_ before. We will suffer many martyrs, it is true, but in the end I am confident that they shall serve us in paradise."

"As you say, Mehmet," replied Jamal, but kept his counsel.

Ahmed and his men padded cautiously up the stairs from the first-floor landing. The stairwell was quiet, but Ahmed, a veteran of Bosnia, Chechnya, Afghanistan and Iraq, trusted that silence not at all. He held his hand out, flat with palm down. The other two militants stopped. He pointed to one and motioned him upstairs, waving his hand '_slow, slow_'. The terrorist nodded and crept upstairs, almost duck-walking, his AK ready. He vanished around the corner leading to the second floor.

For a moment, there was nothing, then something that sounded like a quiet pop, a sigh, then the thump of a body falling and the clatter of a dropped weapon. Ahmed frowned. He looked with great care up the stairwell. Nothing. He decided against calling out to his man and waved the other guerrilla upstairs, following.

Emerging onto the second-floor landing, they found only a blonde woman, dressed in black, huddled against the wall, her face in her hands and her shoulders shaking. Ahmed sneered a little and started to move forward, but stopped as he heard another soft _phut_ and saw his man jerk, then slump to his knees and fall over onto his face. With an oath, he dropped to check the terrorist's pulse, but paused in puzzlement when he found that pulse to be strong and steady and the man's breathing to be regular. Unconscious? A presence behind him alerted his senses and he began to turn.

_Phut._

Napoleon nodded in satisfaction at the three unconscious, bound and gagged Jihadists. "Not half bad at all," he grinned. "Three for three." Angelique patted him lightly on the cheek.

"Good work, darling. That cuts it down to at least seven to ten. The odds are getting better all the time. Shall we find that kitchen now?"

Mehmet frowned. It was too quiet from the west stairwell. He jerked a thumb at Asif, another of his senior troops.

"Asif, go and see what's keeping Ahmed. Go warily - those infidel dogs are clever as Shaitan."

Angelique, again in the lead, opened the door onto the first-floor landing, and slipped quickly out, Napoleon behind her. She flattened herself against the door next to the wall and gestured Napoleon to cover her. The door began to open and Angelique made a "wait" gesture, holstering her Luger and loosening her muscles.

Asif came around the opening door, his assault rifle poised to fire, but Angelique grabbed the muzzle and pushed it down, chopping him hard across the temple with an open-bladed palm. With a pained grunt, Asif let go of the rifle, stumbled back, his fists rising, and churned into an attack against Angelique. The blonde pivoted, kicked out, and smashed his nose with the sole of her boot. The terrorist bellowed in pain and rage and reached out, grabbing Angelique's leg as it went back down, toppling her. She kicked out with her other foot, catching him in the groin, and his breath whistled out in an agonized _whoof_. Before he could recover, Napoleon was on top of him, chopping down with his own palm on the base of the terrorist's thick neck, once, twice. Asif groaned and collapsed. Napoleon reached down and helped Angelique up. "Is he dead?" she gasped, recovering her breath. He bent to check the pulse. "No, but he'll be out like the proverbial light for the next couple of hours.".

Angelique nodded. "All right, then." She looked up. "I hope that noise didn't draw anyone's notice. Let's get into that kitchen!" They pulled the door back open and dashed for the kitchen doors.

Mehmet heard the noise of the fight from the main lobby. He nodded in satisfaction; finally somebody had caught the infidels. "Asif, how are you doing down there?" The sound of more blows, a final groan, then silence. "Asif?" He heard the door open again, then running feet. Scowling, he stepped out into the main corridor just in time to see the kitchen doors swinging shut. He growled something foul in Berber.

"The kitchen - they're in the kitchen! You four, stay here and guard the prisoners - you too, Jamal. You four, go get those infidels!"

Angelique had found a nice large onion. She grabbed Napoleon, whispered quickly to him, and he nodded vigorously as comprehension dawned across his face. "Body armor?" she queried. He nodded again, and she grinned, clapping him on the shoulder, then turned her back to him and cut the onion open, doing something with it. Napoleon took a position, raised his U.N.C.L.E. Special, and waited.

The doors crashed open and four terrorists smashed into the kitchen, yelling "_Allahu Akbar_!" Napoleon jumped up from his hiding spot, shot down two of the Jihadists, then deliberately stayed exposed. One of the surviving terrorists saw him and fired a shot into his chest. Napoleon went down.

There was a cry of dismay from another part of the kitchen, then sobbing. The two surviving Jihadists looked at each other, then stepped forward, one covering the other. They found Angelique crouched behind a counter, her hands over her head, tears pouring down her face. Grinning wolfishly, they grabbed her and hauled her to her feet, ignoring the body of her partner.

Mehmet looked up as his two men frogmarched Angelique forward, and a huge grin crossed his face. "See, Jamal, what did I tell you?" he crowed to his colleague. The ex-Thrushman nodded and smiled a bit, but remained silent. Mehmet turned to the tearful Angelique.

"Ha! So you are the famous Angelique La Chien. I tell you, woman, you do not look so impressive now."

"_Cochon! Salaud!_ You...you killed my Napoleon. Ohhhhh..." Angelique passed into a fresh fit of weeping and wailing.

Mehmet chuckled. "Women are all alike," he commented. "Kill their men and they're helpless." He grabbed Angelique's chin and raised her face up to stare into his. "You'll die for your crimes against _Dar-ul-Islam_ and _Jihad_, but first, perhaps we'll have some fun with you, eh?" He was still holding the deadman switch.

Angelique looked up at him. "Wh-what do you mean?"

Mehmet chuckled again. "This, whore." He grabbed her by the hair and kissed her savagely. Angelique bent backwards meekly as if submitting. Mehmet laughed again, running his fingers through her hair.

He jerked them abruptly back and swore, sucking on one of them. "What the devil was that?"

"M-my hairpin," Angelique stammered. Mehmet sneered.

"Bah! Hairpins! Good Islamic women have no need of such fripperies!" he snorted, reaching out for her again. His fingers didn't want to seem to move, all of a sudden. He blinked at them. His vision was blurring.

"Wha...what...? You...you...Western...whore...poi-poi-poison..." He could feel his limbs stiffening rapidly. He tried to breathe, but his lungs wouldn't work either. He tried to squeeze the controller on the switch, but that hand wouldn't work and the device fell uselessly onto the floor.

Though his vision was blurring, as he began to fall he saw that Angelique's face was no longer anguished, but triumphant. And the last sound he heard was that of the kitchen door slamming open again, and running feet.

The surviving terrorists, as well as the hostages, stood in shock for a moment, watching Mehmet die, but Angelique lost no time. She smashed upward with clenched fists, punching into the faces of her captors, and as they involuntarily loosened their grips, dropped and rolled to the ground.

At that instant, the kitchen door smashed open and Napoleon Solo charged out, U.N.C.L.E. Special in hand. There was a hole in the front of his windbreaker, but he was otherwise unharmed, and his brown eyes were cool and intent.

The terrorists turned, raised their weapons, and began to fire, but they were rattled by the unexpected turn of events and their bullets went wild. Napoleon coolly dropped to the floor, raised his Special and began firing, once, twice, three times. Angelique grabbed Mehmet's pistol and started shooting herself before anyone could think to neutralize her.

In seconds, it was over, and everyone except Jamal was down. He still stood where he had been, gray-faced, the assault rifle hanging limply in his hands. Angelique stood up and approached him. "Aim that rifle," she told him coldly.

"What?" he mumbled.

"Aim that rifle. You are under sentence of death from Central for your treason, but I give you the opportunity to die like a man. _Aim that rifle._"

Jamal's jumbled mind produced the thought; _Two of them, but they have pistols and I have an automatic rifle. Perhaps I can still survive..._ The muzzle of his rifle began to climb.

Angelique raised the pistol and it cracked once. Jamal keeled over backwards, a third eye leaking red in the middle of his forehead and the back of his skull blown out.

She stared down at the body expressionlessly for a moment, then sighed, safetied the pistol and slipped it into her belt. Her face changed as she looked up at Napoleon. "Are you all right, Napoleon darling?" she asked with a touch of anxiety. He nodded and smiled.

"Right as rain. That new weave is tough stuff, all right. I don't think I even got a bruised rib." Angelique sighed, but on a different note this time.

"You know, Thrush was considering issuing execution warrants on that company up in the Midwest after _their_ new weave turned out to be useless...but we decided it was more cost-effective to sue them.." She smiled back at Napoleon. "Come, let's see about getting these hostages freed."

"Solo here, sir. The terrorists have all been neutralized. Three prisoners, only one civilian casualty."

"_Very good, Mr. Solo. It is unfortunate about that poor civilian fellow, but it would have been a catastrophe had those bounders been able to follow through with their plans. I take it the relief forces are now on station?_"

"Correct, sir," Napoleon confirmed. "The force from Barcelona arrived five minutes ago, and the local police are also on the scene; they've taken charge of the prisoners and are securing the crime scene."

"_Very well. H'mmmmm. I see that you still have some time left on your vacation, Mr. Solo. It would be a pity to lose any time because of those criminals, so I will allot you an extra day. I feel confident that you will make use of it profitably._"

"I will, sir. Thank you very much."

"_I shall expect to see you when you return. There are several projects already in the offing which require your talent set._" Waverly clicked off. Napoleon smiled, unpowered his communicator and looked at Angelique. "How did it go?"

"Just fine, Napoleon darling. Central even awarded me an extra twenty-four hours on my vacation to compensate for what those bloody Jihadists cost us."

"What a coincidence," Napoleon commented with a raised eyebrow and a small smile. "Mr. Waverly did the same for me."

"Did he now," Angelique purred, snuggling up close to him. "Where shall we spend the rest of this holiday?"

"We could try Capri, maybe..."

"Mm-hmmmmm..."

"Or Monte Carlo, if you wanted to try your luck..."

"Perhaps..."

"Or Majorca, maybe..."

"Or even Minorca..." Angelique added.

"Or maybe we could even do the grand tour," Napoleon suggested. Angelique chuckled.

"It's an idea. Now, if we can find an open restaurant nearby, I think I could use something to replace that interrupted dinner."

"Not the worst idea I ever heard," Napoleon agreed, as he took her arm and the two walked out of the hotel.

THE END


End file.
